


Comes Around Like a Chainsaw

by trashmadame



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gen, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 06:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15091382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashmadame/pseuds/trashmadame
Summary: He looked, “What have I done, old friend?” He looked so conflicted.





	Comes Around Like a Chainsaw

**Author's Note:**

> A light drabble based on that jro tweet that said Pharma catches himself with regret sometimes.
> 
> I'm not a writer, but it's faster than drawing robots.

He’d fallen off that ridiculous looking hover disk of his, his ridiculous chainsaw hands morphing into fingers that were spread out towards the ground to cushion the fall. “Thank Primus.” Ratchet murmured to himself, hoping Drift hadn’t caught his words. 

He ran to Pharma’s landing spot, found him crouched on the ground, helm tilted to the ground. “Get up you fragging piece of—“

When Pharma raised his helm, Ratchet immediately saw the optics flicker to a more familiar mech. “Ratchet, I—“ Pharma gripped his hands into tight fists, balling debris into his palms. He looked, “What have I done, old friend?” He looked so conflicted. He probably landed on his helm, knocked some sense back into him. Or, maybe, he had finally realized.

“Pharma, look at me, keep your optics on me!” Ratchet grabbed Pharma’s shoulders. He heard Drift yell after him above the noise of chaos around them. Crashing worldsweepers and raining crystals and the such. He was never good at these good byes, but slag it all he would fight to keep a mech alive if it costed his own life. “You’re still the same brilliant medic you always were.”

He grabbed Pharma’s chin and forced his face towards him. “You saved lives.” 

No use. 

He was gone quicker than he came. 

Pharma chuckled, optics darkened and highbeamed to realization. He slapped away Ratchet’s hands (his hands), and pulled out the damn chainsaws again.

“Fragger.” Ratchet grited through denta, felt Drift loop arms around his waist and pull back with a sudden force that caused his senses to swirl. The chainsaw would have sliced him clean through the middle, top to bottom.

“Familiar, Ratchet?” 

The fragging piece of scrap could go back to the pits for all he cared.


End file.
